Beauty and the Beast
by IsabelleBlue
Summary: After TDK. JokerOC. What would happen if the Joker rescued a young woman from a couple of thugs bent on rape? Would she be grateful? Would Batman and Gordon be suspicious of their connection? What will this mean for her life and her own secret identity?
1. Chapter 1

**TOKEN DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING. ONLY MY OCS ARE MY OWN. THERE ARE DEPICTIONS OF ATTEMPTED RAPE AND VIOLENCE IN THIS STORY. THERE WILL BE SMUT IN THIS STORY. IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT DON'T READ IT, ITS RATED M FOR A REASON. SET AFTER TDK. ASSUME THE JOKER QUICKLY BROKE OUT OF ARKHAM AND IS NOW BACK TO HIS USUAL TRICKS.**

**SO, I HAD THE IDEA TO TRY A JOKER/OC ROMANCE THAT DID NOT INCLUDE A WHOLE BUCH OF VIOLENCE BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM, CONTRARY TO WHAT MOST STORIES SEEM TO HAVE. I JUST HAVE A VERY HARD TIME BELIEVING THAT THESE WOMEN FALL IN LOVE AFTER BEING REPEATEDLY RAPED AND BEATEN. ANYWAY, HERE'S MY TAKE ON SOMETHING A LITTLE SWEETER, HOPEFULLY THE JOKER'S NOT TOO OOC. P.S. HEATH LEDGER WAS A GENIUS.**

Michelle sighed as she climbed into the front seat of Coleman Reese's overpriced sports car. She'd been suckered into a blind date with him tonight and it was a **nightmare**. She was so relieved that they were done with dinner and now on their way home. Reese was a self-centered, egotistical jackass and she couldn't wait to get away from him.

Michelle stayed silent as he drove. She attempted to watch Gotham pass by through passenger window but she was distracted by the reflection of herself. _I'm a reasonably attractive woman_, she thought, _thick, wavy, dark brown hair, gray-green eyes, small, pale and a little curvy, but not fat. So, why was it that I've gotten stuck with an asshole like Coleman Reese? I can do better. _She frowned as she realized something. _This isn't the way back to my apartment_. They were headed into the Narrows.

"Coleman," she said sharply, looking at him for the first time since she'd gotten into the car, "where are you going?"

"You'll see," he replied smugly.

Michelle suddenly became all too aware of her vulnerability. She was alone with this man, at night, in a very scary part of town. It had been years since she'd been in a situation like this, but you didn't forget that feeling. Hiding her nervousness behind bluster, she snapped, "No, I won't see. Take me home. **Now**."

He laughed nastily and abruptly spun the wheel, pulling into an abandoned parking lot and coming to a stop with a jerk.

Michelle, her instincts raging at her to get away, scrambled for the door handle, intending to run for it, but could only tug at it futilely as it wouldn't open. _Bastard must have set the child-locks_. "Coleman, let me out!" She hated the edge hysteria that had crept into her voice, but she was getting scared, dammit!

"Now, now." Reese said patronizingly as he leaned over and placed a lascivious hand on her upper thigh, raising the hem of her skirt. He reached for her head, intending to force her closer for a kiss.

Michelle shrieked, "Don't you touch me!" at him and they tussled. She slapped at him and finally landed a stunning blow across his face.

"You bitch!" he snarled at her, but, to her relief, pulled away, watching cautiously as she tried the door again in desperation. "I bought you dinner at one of the most expensive places in town. You owe me!"

He reached for her again, but this time Michelle was ready and she slapped him again, even harder, across the same cheek. "I don't owe you **shit**, you sanctimonious bastard! Let. Me. Out!"

Enraged, he released the lock on her door and, once she'd gotten her door open, shoved her out onto the cracked asphalt, throwing her bag out after her.

From her untidy sprawl, Michelle watched as he spun the tires and pealed away, abandoning her there. She heaved a sigh of relief at escaping him. Looking around at the deserted street and broken streetlights, the words that came to mind where 'frying pan' and 'fire'.


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, Michelle trudged down the dirty sidewalk, trying to ignore the pain in her scraped knees. She'd called a taxi with her cell, absurdly grateful that Reese'd left her with her bag, but they'd refused to come pick her up in the Narrows. They'd promised to have one waiting for her just outside but her only option was to walk out.

Alarmed by her vulnerability, Michelle was kicking herself. She **knew** better then to go out without her little, snubnose 38 revolver or at least a can of military-grade mace. She'd gotten lazy, living like a normal these last couple of years.

She had done her best to keep aware of her surroundings but was still surprised when, just at the edge of the Narrows, two men melted out of the shadows and cornered her against one particularly dirty building.

They were typical street thugs, tattooed, muscular and not too bright. The bigger one was paler with lighter skin and hair and the shorter one had a shaved head, but physically, they weren't anything out of the ordinary. The predatory look on their faces, however, held Michelle frozen.

"Look what we found, Vince," one said to the other.

"Mmmm, yeah. Very pretty," the bald one answered back and then turned to her grinning menacingly. "What are you doing out so late, pretty? Don't you know it's dangerous?" They both giggled at that.

Michelle eased away from them, as far as she could go against the wall, not bothering to hide her fear. She plunged one hand into her purse and punched 9-1-1 on her phone.

Then they were on her.

The taller one grabbed her purse out of her hands and threw it into the nearby trash-strewn alley. Michelle spun on her heels and tried to run through a likely gap between them but was caught by her long dark hair and pulled painfully off her feet.

From her slump on the ground she groaned, her hands going instinctively to her head as she looked up at the two men. "Leave me alone!" she said, attempting to sound firm from her ungainly sprawl on the ground

The bald one laughed at her bravado as the other casually backhanded her.

She couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped her as she was thrown into the wall behind her and the back of her head connected with it with a crack. The world swirled around her and she wasn't able to track anything that was going on around her for several long seconds.

Once she came back to herself, Michelle was dismayed to find she was on her back on the dirty sidewalk with the larger of the two thugs on top of her. She shrieked when she realized he'd ripped the front of her dress open as well as her bra. Finally beginning to lose her composure, she yelled, "Stop! Stop it!" as she slapped ineffectually at him, much to his amusement.

"That's it, girly. Squirm," he said leering at her and then he continued conversationally to his friend, "I love it when they fight."

Tears began to trickle from Michelle's eyes as she realized she was going to be raped on the street here, tonight, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. For all that she'd had a particularly dangerous life from a very young age, she'd managed to never be raped, even if she'd come pretty close a couple of times.

Still, she was unwilling to just give up. She'd always been a fighter. She struggled, screaming, "No! Don't touch me!" and kicking wildly as the thug on top of her groped under her skirt, attempting to rip off her panties. Managing to get one hand free, she raked her long nails down his face, leaving bloody furrows in her wake.

"Fucking, bitch!" he shouted, taken aback by her viciousness and backhanded her across the same cheek that his friend had.

Her head turned with the force of his blow and smacked into the concrete dizzyingly.

Disoriented, she felt rather than saw his weight lift off her and she rolled over, struggling to get her eyes to focus. She heard a sickening crack and a man's scream of pain and then two loud popping sounds. Gunshots, she realized.

Michelle's gaze finally cleared as she sat up and tried to focus on the dark shape in front of her. She realized it was a man standing over her; not one of the two who'd attacked her. For a moment, she assumed the police'd come; that her 9-1-1 call had been successful but then she realized he was dressed in a suit, with a big over-coat, not policemen's blues

He was a tall man, broad but lanky and he stood with his shoulders' oddly hunched. That was all she could see, he was almost totally obscured by shadow. She watched as he tucked a handgun, one she hadn't noticed before then, into that coat and then motioned to two other men she also hadn't noticed behind her.

Dimly, she realized she must be in shock. That, or she had a concussion.  Either way she wasn't following what was happening very well at all.

The men's footsteps sounded behind her and as they began to fade away, the man in front of her, her savior, crouched down before her.

Michelle gasped as his face finally came into view. She knew that face. It had been all over the news for weeks now. Her rescuer. Her savior was . . .

The Joker.


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe it was the shock, or the stress of almost being raped twice in one night, or even the absurdity of being rescued by the most wanted criminal in Gotham, but, whatever the case, she wasn't nearly as afraid of him as she should have been, as anyone else would have been in her place.

He didn't say anything, he just stayed squatted there in front of her, his hands dangling between his knees and his fathomless eyes boring into hers. "Why?" she finally ventured, too curious to use caution. "Why would you save me?"

He sucked at his scars for a moment, as if bemused by her lack of panic at his presence. He didn't know that she'd learned long ago never to show weakness in front of predators. Finally he said, his voice dark and startlingly serious, "I don'-**t** like ra-**p**e."

Michelle reached out as if to touch his arm, but hesitated at the look of blank surprise on his face, letting her hand drop. She guessed he didn't get a lot of people reaching out to him. "Well . . . thank you."

His burning eyes finally left hers and Michelle found herself feeling both relieved and bereft. His gazed drifted downward and darkened and she was suddenly reminded of her ripped dress. She scrambled to gather the torn edges together, covering herself.

The Joker chuckled a little at her, an astonishingly warm sound, and stood, towering over her again. Really, he could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be.

She watched with wide eyes as he stripped off his deep purple coat and then knelt down on one knee to drape it around her. Michelle shivered at the warmth of it and pulled it closer, her nose filling with his surprisingly appealing scent.

Unexpectedly tender, he brushed some of her messy hair out of her eyes and said, "What's your name-ah, then, dollface?"

"M-michelle. Michelle Mereaux." She couldn't look away from his eyes, scared and enthralled all at once. They sat there, his hand warm on her cheek even through the glove, for several long minutes.

The moment was broken by the sound of sirens and they both looked up.

"All-right, ma belle," he said, standing. "That's my cue." He leaned over, catching her chin in one hand and tilting her face up. "Next time you, uh, deci-**d**e to go for a stroll I . . . I won'**t** be there to save you." Then all humor dropped out of his tone. "Don't be stupid."

He leaned down and pressed his painted lips to her forehead and then headed off, strolling down the street with his hands in his pockets as if he hadn't a care in the world. Just as he faded completely from sight a police cruiser and an ambulance pulled up and doors slammed open, people piling out.

Michelle, for her part, was still sitting, dazed, on the sidewalk, wrapped up in that warm purple coat.


	4. Chapter 4

Five hours later Michelle was sitting in an interrogation room at the Gotham City Police Department still waiting to go to the hospital. The beat cops who'd picked her up had been so alarmed by her near brush with the Joker, they'd ignored procedure and brought her, the victim, straight to Commissioner Gordon to 'deal with', ignoring her need for medical attention.

Gordon hadn't even arrived until about three hours ago. His reaction to the sight of her face let her know that she must look horrible. He'd brought in some people to take pictures of her, apparently they'd all been quite alarmed by the smear of red greasepaint on her forehead and he'd asked some questions about the extent of her injuries (i.e. did they need to do a rape kit?) but that was all. He'd been kind enough to bring her an ice-pack for her face and some coffee, but he'd also taken the Joker's coat away for 'evidence', only replacing it with a thin blanket, leaving her shivering and probably concussed alone in the barren room.

Sometime later the door creaked open and Michelle reluctantly pulled herself up from where she'd laid her head on the table in exhaustion. Gordon walked in, no surprise there, but the dark shape following was quite unexpected.

Batman.

Intimidated by him and the inscrutable look on, what she could see of, his face, Michelle's eyes flicked away from Batman's and landed back on Gordon as he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. "Miss Mereaux, I'm very sorry about the wait, but we're ready to take your statement now."

Not above using theatrics to get her way, Michelle lowered the ice pack and turned so they both could get an eyeful of the bruised side of her face. "And then I can go to the hospital?" she asked stridently, she was fully past annoyed with their treatment of her and into angry. "I'm pretty sure I have a concussion."

Gordon winced, saying, "I am very sorry about that. We've gotten to you as quickly as we could."

Michelle just managed to refrain from snorting. "And it's typical police procedure to keep victims in interrogation rooms and refuse them medical care?"

At that he had no comeback. The silence stretched until Batman finally said, in his peculiar gravelly voice, "Can you tell us what happened?"

Stymied, and seeing no other way to get out of there quickly but to cooperate, Michelle gathered up her ice pack and gingerly pressed it to her face before resignedly speaking. "I was on a blind date. A friend of mine at work set me up. It was terrible. I was relieved to be on my way home when I realized he was taking us into the Narrows."

She swallowed with a little trouble and then continued at Gordon's nod. "He pulled off the road . . . and the doors were locked . . . and he tried to . . ." She laughed a little desperately, "He said I owed him, since he paid for dinner."

Both men winced at that.

She took a sip of her now cold coffee and continued, sounding much more collected. "We fought and then he threw me out of the car."

The silence stretched out, "And then?" Gordon said not looking up from where he was marking something down on a little pad.

"I called for a cab, but none of them were willing to come into the Narrows. I had to walk out. I had almost made it when two men came out of nowhere." She gulped then and had to visibly calm herself. Strangely, the thing that helped her the most was remembering that the Joker'd saved her and how safe she'd felt wrapped up in his coat.

She really wanted it back.

"They attacked me." She raised a hand to her bruised cheek to illustrate. "Hit me a couple times. Ripped my dress open." She motioned to where her dress was torn under the blanket. "Things were almost to the point of no return when someone, from out of nowhere, pulled one of them off me."

Now both men were focused on her story. Michelle was smart enough to realize that this was because they were after the Joker, not the petty criminals who'd really hurt her. It didn't help her temper.

"I couldn't really see, I had just hit my head, but I heard a bone snap and a man scream and then two gunshots."

"He killed them?" Gordon asked.

Michelle just nodded.

"Anything else?"

She shook her head. She didn't particularly want to share the couple of private moments that had passed between her and her savior.

"How did you end up with his coat?" Batman's gravelly voice broke the silence.

"He gave it to me," she answered mulishly. "I wasn't very . . . dressed."

"And the greasepaint on your forehead?" He pressed.

She couldn't help but blush. She hoped her face was dirty and bruised enough that they couldn't tell. "He . . . kissed me."

The shocked silence at that was deafening.

Gordon cleared his throat and finally said, "Anything else?"

Michelle shrugged, "He told me not to go walking at night again."

The two men glanced at each other and finally Gordon sighed. "Do you have **any idea** why the Joker would rescue you? You didn't recognize him from anywhere? Meet him before?"

Michelle shook her head blankly. She truly didn't know why he'd rescued her. "He just said that he didn't like rape," she said, clearly bemused and shrugged.


	5. Chapter 5

A week and a half later, Michelle was puttering around her kitchen at about three in the morning, unable to sleep. For all that she'd bounced back quickly from her attacks, being able to go to work and all, she had been having trouble sleeping. She just didn't feel safe anymore.

Commissioner Gordon had stopped by a couple of days ago. Which **seemed** sweet of him, but Michelle was pretty sure he was checking up on her, which she resented both because he didn't seem to believe she had no connection to the Joker and because of the invasion of her privacy. It also worried her to be the focus of any kind of police scrutiny. While her new identity had been the best money could buy, it wasn't watertight, nothing was, and she hated to tempt fate by calling attention to herself.

Gordon had done one thing she appreciated. She glanced over to the drape of purple fabric folded over one of her bar stools. He'd brought her back the Joker's coat.

She was trying to resist it. Wrapping herself up in it was the only way she got any sleep anymore and she didn't like using it as a crutch. It was ridiculous, anyway. The man was a mass murderer for god's sake. He shouldn't make her feel safe. But . . . he did. Frankly, he was the only thing that made her feel safe at all anymore . . . or his clothing did anyway.

Sighing, she turned to wash out her mug in the sink and shrieked in surprise to find someone behind her. Her fingers, numb from her sudden alarm, lost their grip on the mug and it crashed to the floor.

Realizing it was the Joker and not some rampaging thug, Michelle shouted, "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Feeling relief rush through her she put a hand to her racing heart. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Oops-**y**," he said, completely unrepentantly.

She took him in, leaning against the side of her kitchen doorway. He was dressed in his normal suit, minus the overcoat, with the vest and everything, his makeup on and that green rinse in his hair. Really, she ought to be terrified, but strangely she was only a little nervous and couldn't help but think he looked good there, leaning against the door jab.

Flustered by her thoughts, Michelle scrambled for something to do. Stooping, she picked up the broken shards from her mug and then wiped down the floor with a damp towel; anything to give her a little time to compose herself. The Joker was in her apartment, in her kitchen, and the only thing she could think was that it was so **good** to see him again.

Finally, she finished, there was nothing else to do and she was forced to face him again. She found herself just standing there staring back at him, completely bemused at his presence in her home.

She finally brought herself to speak, "Why are you here?"

He pursed his lips. "Su-**ch** a difficult question, ma belle." He paused and took a step into the room. "How, uh . . . how did I know you'd ask diffi-cult ques-**tions**?"

Michelle flushed and shrugged. "Sorry . . ."

"Don'-**t** be sorry. 's why I like you."

She couldn't help the flush of pleasure she felt at his words. She smiled at him warily, "So you're not here to kill me?"

He moved, coming toward her without saying anything and Michelle couldn't help but feel stalked. She stepped back, letting out a little squeak when she ran into the counter behind her. He towered over her, completely filling her field of vision as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

He tilted his head to the side consideringly. "I though-**t** about it. Killing you." He paused and licked his lips, lifting one purple-gloved hand to cup her cheek where she still had a faded bruise from the night he'd saved her. "Ha, ha . . . but then . . . I realized . . . you would be much more fu-**n** aliivvve."

Michelle shivered at his touch, desire washing through her. She gasped at the sensation, her eyes flaring wide; she'd never felt anything like that with anyone else. She'd found men attractive, yes, and even enjoyed sex with them, but this kind of wanting was completely outside of her experience.

His lips pulled into that all too familiar rictus as he sensed her response to him. It scared her a little and she shuddered, but the tingle of fear did nothing to quell her desire.

"Yeah," he said, completely serious. "Much more fun."

_Well. I suppose that's better than the alternative_, she thought

He stepped away from her. Seeming almost embarrassed at their little heart-to-heart and looked toward her curtained windows. "The copssss are wat-ching your place."

"**What?**" She gasped, immediately indignant and spun around, intending to go to the widow and look out. Before she'd taken two steps she found herself swept up off her feet by an arm around her waist.

"No, ma belle. Don't . . . give us away," his deep voice sounded in her ear. She flushed at the sensation of his warm breath on her neck.

Still angry, she squirmed to be free even though he didn't release her. "Gordon set people to watch me? That bastard! He's treating me like some kind of criminal!"

"Heh, ha, ha. Ha, ha . . ." he laughed, causing a whole new round of shivers to go through her. Finally, he set her down, pulling her around to face him. "Maybe you are-ah. Harboring **me**, aren't you?"

"Harboring?!" Michelle shrieked, completely exasperated with him and the entire situation and forgetting that she ought to be afraid of him. "You- you broke in!"

He grinned at her again, clearly amused by her antics and leaned back against her bar. "And any other person . . . any **normal** person, would have screamed bloo-**dy** murder by now."

"I," now, suddenly a little more uncertain, Michelle waffled, "I did."

"Ha! Ha." He shook his finger at her, playfully. "No you didn'-t. When you realized it was meee you were, uh . . . relieve-**d**."

Michelle flushed and looked away, hating that it was true and that he knew it.

He stepped up to her again, suddenly menacing, twisting the hair at the back of her neck in a gloved fist, forcing her to look at him, and leaned into her, his breath hot in her face. "You think you're . . . safe with me? That I'll pro-te-**ct** you?"

He was trying to intimidate her. She resolved not to let him. _Go for gusty_, she told herself. "You did before."

"Ha, ha, he, ha, ha" he cackled again at her, clearly amused by her defiance. "Yes," he grew sober, "I did."

Their eyes met and it seemed like time held its breath. All there was, was each other and that moment. They were so close, their noses almost touching, breath mingling. He leaned closer, dark eyes boring into hers and Michelle caught her breath. If someone had asked her if it was in anticipation or terror she wouldn't have been able to tell them.

His lips touched hers, surprisingly soft, and she gasped, hers parting. He moved in closer then, one arm wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him, the other still in her hair, tilting her head for just the right angle as his tongue swept into her mouth.

She resisted for a moment, pushing against his chest, but it was half-hearted at best. Something about this man drew her; his fire and surety and the way he made her feel safe. Whatever it was, now, with him there, it was that much harder to resist. Finally, a moan catching in the back of her throat, Michelle gave in and relaxed against him.

He growled, feeling the capitulation in her body, and pressed himself even tighter against her. Finally, he pulled away, staring at her like he wanted to drink in every little emotional nuance that crossed her face.

Nervous and enthralled, Michelle struggled for words. "J . . . J-Joker?"

He hurriedly interrupted her, seeming to dislike that name coming from her mouth. "Call me Jack."

"Jack . . ." she struggled to remember what she had wanted to say as a yawn broke over her.

He grinned. "Poor thing-ah . . . so **tired**. Lets, uh, put you to bed."

She jerked back, immediately assuming most inappropriate meaning possible for his words.

"Heh, heh, ha." He waved a finger at her. "Not tha-**t**, ma belle. I just wanted to tuck you in-ah. But if you **real-ly** want to . . ." he trailed off and grinned at her impishly.

She blushed and looked away. Desperately trying to change the subject, she said, "I haven't really been able to sleep much lately, since . . ."

He nodded in understanding.

"Could you . . . would you, just, sit with me a minute?" Michelle asked, walking over to her couch and sitting down to illustrate.

He gave her another bemused look, as if he couldn't figure her out but that wasn't going to stop him from trying, and then walked slowly over to her and sat down.

Michelle, for her part, had already decided to ignore his discomfort. She hadn't had a full nights sleep in **days** and no longer felt any hesitation about doing whatever it took to get what she needed.

Once he'd settled himself, uncomfortably sitting at the opposite end of the couch from her, Michelle scooched around and, once her butt was in the correct spot, laid down, putting her head in the Joker's . . . Jack's . . . very surprised lap.

After a couple of minutes, he tentatively put a hand on her head, threading his fingers carefully through her curls. He felt her exhale and her body fully relax as he did so.

She mumbled something, so quiet he almost didn't catch it, even in the predawn silence of her little apartment. "Hey . . . don't forget . . . your coat's on the bar stool."

"O-kay, ma belle. I won'-**t** . . . forget."


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce Wayne frowned as he made his way out of his office. He'd found out where Michelle Mereaux worked. Turns out she was the secretary of one of the members of the board here at Wayne Enterprises, Charles Billington III, who he actually liked.

Batman and the police'd been keeping an eye on her, hoping the Joker would show himself, but so far, no luck. He and Gordon, both, were convinced that she must somehow be in league with that madman. She was either a plant or they were somehow involved enough that he would go to the trouble of rescuing her. Either way, he'd have to show up sometime and then they'd have him.

Alfred had given him the idea of asking her out. If they were involved he be able to keep a much closer eye on her without having to resort to Batman. He didn't love the idea but he saw the logic in it.

As he reached the outside of Billington's office, he used a piece of shiny marble to straighten his tie and check his hair. _No woman can resist Bruce Wayne,_ he thought._ Time to pour on the charm_.

Michelle sat at her desk, everything just so, organized the way only very good secretaries were, sunlight haloing her dark hair. She looked up as the outer office door swung open and was surprised to see Bruce Wayne there. In the three years she'd worked for Charles she couldn't think of a single time he had come in to the office. She was immediately suspicious.

He strode in as if he owned the place, which she supposed, he did, and came to a halt right in front of her desk. She pasted a welcoming smile on her face. "Mr. Wayne, Good afternoon, sir. Mr. Billington is in a meeting just now, but if you'd like to wait he should be done in just a few minutes."

He smiled back at her and leaned against her desk, clearly trying to be charming. "Thank you . . . Michelle, isn't it? Actually I was here to speak with **you**."

_Oh, god_, she thought, _I really, really, __**really**__ hope he's not here to ask me out_.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me sometime."

Michelle just looked at him for a moment. This was Bruce Wayne, international playboy asking, while not un-attractive, certainly not model beautiful, Michelle out. Strange? She certainly thought so.

She thought about going out with him just to find out what he was up to, if anything, but decided against it. She'd never been attracted to smooth-talking pretty boys and from what she'd heard; he didn't make up for it in personality. She didn't need another Coleman Reese on her hands. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but due to recent events I have resolved not to go out with men I don't know."

"Ah, but Michelle," he cajoled, "you know me. I work with you."

"So does Coleman Reese," she countered darkly.

Clearly at an impasse, Bruce decided to strategically retreat. Michelle was more reluctant then he'd expected. He pulled out a card. "Well . . . here's my number if you change your mind. Call me anytime."

She took the card between two fingers like he'd handed her a dead mouse and put it down on her desk.

Correctly reading her discomfort, Bruce gave her a small, courtly half-bow. "Have a good day, Miss Mereaux."

"You too, Mr. Wayne," Michelle rejoined tightly and then sighed with relief as the door closed behind him. Really, her life was becoming quite the soap opera.


	7. Chapter 7

After that day, Bruce continued to pursue Michelle, intrigued by the novelty of her complete lack of interest in him. He resolved to discover her connection to the Joker, if there was one.

Michelle, for her part, was becoming increasingly aggravated by his inability to take a hint. If he hadn't been her boss's boss she would have told him off long ago. As it was she struggled to remain civil and just hoped he would soon lose interest.

After a particularly trying day in which her boss had admonished her for 'wasting time' with Wayne **and** she'd learned that because of his new interest in her, many people were now beginning to believe that she'd slept her way into her position, Michelle stomped into her apartment and threw her bag down with a shriek of frustration.

"What'sss the matter?" an awfully familiar voice asked from behind her.

Michelle screeched in surprise and spun around. She saw that it was just Jack and not the faceless thug she'd feared and blew out a breath, strangely relieved, and tried to calm her racing heart.

"**Must** you keep doing that?" she said with a sigh as she dropped into the easy chair next to her. She pulled of her heels and negligently tossed them to the floor. A little unsettled by the way he watched her, she answered his first question, "Bad day at work."

"Hmmm?" he said, strolling toward her.

"Its . . ." she thought about telling him about how Wayne was hassling her. _Hmm, better not_. She didn't want anyone to end up murdered, even if it **would** make her life a lot easier. " . . . nothing really. Just work stuff."

"Heh, ha, ha," he laughed, clearly not believing her and then squatted down in front of her. "Bruce-y still bo-ther-ing you?"

Michelle's head snapped up in surprise. "How did you know about that?"

He just laughed at her again, and put a gloved finger to his nose, knowingly.

She rolled her eyes at his non-answer. She ought to be bothered by the idea that he was having her watched, but, strangely, it made her feel safer. Uncomfortable with that realization, she changed the subject. "So, what's up?"

"Ha, ha . . . does something have to be, uh, **up** for me to visit you, ma belle?"

"Usually," Michelle mumbled.

"Oooh, hoo! Do I detec-**t** a little, ah . . . resentment?"

Michelle smothered a rueful smile at that. "No . . ."

"Uh, huh." Doubt filled his tone. "Did you missss me?" He reached out and pulled her into a hug, squeezing her to him.

She giggled at his theatrics and then gasped when he thrust his face into the crook of her neck, arousal shooting through her. He started pressing little wet kisses along the line of her throat, going upward toward her ear, eliciting a shiver.

"Jack . . ." she whimpered and he pulled away, looking at her for a second and then putting a hand to the back of her head to steady her for a kiss. His hot mouth pulled at hers, coaxing her, wickedly, to open and let him in.

Groaning she gave into him, letting herself feel the desire that he was oh-so adept at creating in her. Slowly, she felt her top begin to creep up, his gloved hand surprisingly warm against her side. He eased higher, pulling her top with him, the cool air in the room raising goose-bumps on her skin.

He kissed her deeply, still, his tongue spearing into her as he brought his warm hand up to cup her breast. By coincidence, or luck, her brassiere was particularly thin today; thin, fine peach satin, and she could feel every nuance of his touch through it.

Growling, he plucked at her furled nipple and she arched against him in response. "God!" she cried.

He continued plucking and massaging for several minutes, before they pulled apart, out of breath, to find that his makeup was so smeared it was unrecognizable.

Michelle giggled at the sight of his face and the thought of what hers must look like. Standing, she said with another laugh, "Let me get us a wash-cloth."

A little unsteady from his touch, she went into the bathroom and slowly moistened a cloth, taking the time to contemplate what she was doing. This was **The Joker**. Even if he treated her like her father'd done her mother, like the Queen she really was, he was still a mass-murdering criminal and if she got involved with him, it would be the end of her trying to have a normal life. She glanced up at her reflection in the mirror; her own clown face stared back at her, smeared as she was with his grease paint. _Is he worth it?_

She looked up as he abruptly appeared in the doorway. _Maybe_.

Michelle sighed, pushing her thoughts away for now and rung out the now saturated washcloth. Stepping to him, she tentatively raised the cloth up to his face, pleased that he would allow her the intimacy of caring for him like this, and slowly wiped off the remains of his grease paint.

Once she was done, she couldn't help but stare at him for a moment. After all, she'd never seen his uncovered face before. He was really quite handsome, strong cheekbones and jaw, with smooth skin, brown eyes and surprisingly sensitive lips. His scars were a lot less appalling then she'd expected as well. It seemed the paint had emphasized both their size and color.

Finally, she looked away; realizing she'd been staring. She turned to the mirror and began wiping the paint off herself. "Why are you here? I mean," she couldn't help but ask nervously, just realizing how rude her question had been, "Why do you keep coming back here?"

He cocked his head to one side and looked at her. "Wha-**t** does it matter?"

Oooh, she did **not** like his tone. "I . . . I don't know . . ."

He watched her consideringly, worrying at his scars and enjoying how flustered she was. Finally, he broke the silence. "You, uh, know the say-ing . . . 'Love what you do'?"

She nodded mutely.

"We-**ll** . . . I **do** love what I do-ah, **but** . . . nobody wants to work **all **the ti-**me **. . . even **me**."

Michelle set the cloth down, finished, and turned back to him. She thought she got what he was trying to say, but it was just so bizarre that she had trouble believing it. "So . . . you come here to **relax**?"

"Here I can be **normal**," the derision in his voice when he said the word was plain. He licked at his lips like he hated the taste of it in his mouth, but he obviously couldn't find any other way to articulate it. "Here-ah," he waved his hand around to illustrate, "I can be . . . Jack."

"What about at home? At your . . . headquarters?" Michelle asked hesitantly searching for the right word.

He stepped out of the bathroom and started pacing, visibly uncomfortable with their discussion but in no way trying to avoid it. "Can't relax **there**. Always gotta be care-ful. Gotta watch the boys, made sure they don't do, uh, do anything . . . **stupid**. Gotta watch my back-ah, can'-t let my **guard** down. They're al-ways so afraid, so **afraid** until my back's turned and, uh, and **then** . . . trouble."

Michelle watched from the doorway, surprised by how bothered he seemed to be. He continued muttering so low she couldn't hear him, but she'd already caught his drift. He felt safe with her.

Funny, she felt the same way about him.

Really, she shouldn't feel bad for him, that his criminal life left him with no safe place to go, but she couldn't seem to help it. She'd been drawn to him since he'd first saved her, and it didn't seem to matter that he'd killed and terrorized hundreds of people in Gotham. With her he was just . . . Jack.

Michelle stepped over to him, getting in his way and forcing him to stop pacing. She brought one hand up to his unmade-up face, trying to get him to look at her long enough for her words to sink in. When he finally met her eyes she said, "I don't mind being that for you."

He looked at her a moment, his eyes burning. "You're, uh, **more** than jusssst tha-**t**."

She realized, for all that his face looked so different, his eyes were the same: ablaze with emotion. "How much more?"

"I don'-**t** . . . know."

"Okay," Michelle breathed, unnerved by the direction their conversation had taken. She took a deep breath and then said brightly, "I've been a poor hostess. Can I get you something to drink?"

He cocked his head at her as if confused by her actions. "Suuurre," he finally said slowly, "whatever **you're** hav-ing."

Relieved to have something to distract herself with, Michelle headed into the kitchen. She decided to make coffee, he seemed like a caffeine kind of guy, and busied herself doing that. She never once gave a thought to leaving the Joker alone in her living room and the possible repercussions thereof.

Several minutes later, she returned calm and collected to find Jack doing something strange.

Silently, she watched as he rooted through her purse, giving a triumphant, "Ah, hah!" as he pulled out her cell phone. Humming to himself, he proceeded to punch numbers into it.

When she couldn't contain her curiosity any longer she strode over to him. Michelle put the two coffee cups down on the table and asked baldly, "What **are** you doing?"

"Huh?" he looked up at her blankly for a second and then that voracious intellect appeared in his eyes again. He held out the phone to her silently. The display showed three new contacts:

ME

IYCGM

IYD

"Uh . . . okay. What do they mean?"

He giggled at the look of complete incomprehension on her face. "Meee," he said patronizingly, pointing to himself. "I trust I don't have to, uh, expl-ain tha-**t **one."

He scrolled to the next contact. "If you can'-**t** get me **and** . . ." he pointed to the third, "if you're dying. Only call that one if you really **are** dying, ma belle, or I'll, uh, I'll make you regre-t it."

"Okay . . ." Michelle replied nervously. He really could be quite a scary guy when he wanted to be.

**(P.S. I COMPLETELY STOLE THE CONTACTS FROM A SERIES OF BOOKS I'VE READ BUT I HAD TO USE THEM, THEY WERE JUST PERFECT!)**


	8. Chapter 8

**OKAY. HERE'S THREE CHAPTERS TODAY, 'CAUSE THEY'RE ALL SO SHORT.**

A couple of days later Michelle was doing a little household cleaning and found herself standing in front of the little framed picture she had of her mother, the only one she had in her apartment. Really, she shouldn't even have dared to have this one, but she couldn't stand to not have some reminder of her beloved mother.

She picked it up. "Oh, Mama . . ." Michelle said sadly. She hadn't died all that long ago, but when she had . . . Her father'd been left rudderless, without a conscience, in the dangerous sea of the criminal world.

Michelle had grown up in a very different world them most girls she'd realized then; a world of bodyguards and backroom deals and a father who had people killed. She'd always loved him, even then, taking her cue from her mother. Mama'd always said, 'You don't get to choose who you love. It's a harsh world out there and your papa loves us and keeps us safe. Nobody's perfect and we're a lot luckier than most'."

**That** was the philosophy she'd grown up with. No wonder Michelle had so little trouble forgetting just who Jack was; even if every once in awhile her conscience still pricked at her. It was becoming easier and easier to ignore.


	9. Chapter 9

Later, Bruce was standing in Gordon's dark office, watching as the man himself walked in and shut the door with a tired sigh. He clicked on the desk lamp and jumped when the dim light illuminated Batman.

"Oh!" he cried, startled and set down the files he was carrying to take the printout Batman was holding out.

"The background check I did on Michelle Mereaux," he said enigmatically.

"It's a false identity," Gordon said in realization, looking up. "So, who is she?"

"That's what we need to find out."

Gordon sighed, setting the paper down as he went around behind his desk to sit. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face tiredly. "I guess I can bring her in for questioning again."

"Do that. I'll keep a closer eye on her in the mean time."

Gordon nodded, without looking up. "What about the men I have watching her place? Should I pull them off?" He looked up, but Batman was already gone. "Huh . . ."


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, Bruce approached Michelle with renewed resolve. He would press her for an answer today and not let her get around him this time; no matter what it took. In his eyes she'd become little more than another criminal. She was living under a false identity and was somehow connected to the Joker. What else **could** she be?

"Michelle!" Bruce said, striding into the employee café, pleased he'd found her somewhere private.

It was deserted at ten o'clock in the morning, much to Michelle's dismay. For all that she tried to put up a front, she was still on edge from her attack and she'd found herself falling back into behaviors that had kept her safe in her old life. Not being alone with a man who made her nervous was one of them.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne," Michelle said uncomfortably, pasting a fake smile on her face. Something about the look in his eye made her ease away from him when he approached.

He didn't seem to notice as he said, "I heard you are quite the ballet enthusiast," and cornered her against the counter.

"Yes . . . I suppose . . ."

"Well, you're in luck. The Paris Opera Ballet is in town and I have two box seat tickets to the sold out show."

Michelle attempted to edge past him, while saying, "That's nice . . ."

"No." He put an arm out to block her, "Michelle, you misunderstand me. I would like to take you."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I have other plans." By her tone of voice it was clear she wasn't the least bit sorry.

He frowned at her. "I haven't even said when they were for."

Michelle gulped. _Busted._ "Look," she blew out a breath, deciding to just be blunt. "Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry but I'm just not interested."

Brue smiled disarmingly at her, not willing to give up just yet. "In the ballet? You **just** said you liked it."

Michelle threw in her last ace. "I'm involved with someone else."

Bruce took a step back in surprise. Uh,oh. That was something he didn't think he could get around. "Who?"

Indignant, Michelle snapped, "That's none of your business." Taking advantage of his movement she slid past him, heading toward the door. Over her shoulder she continued, " And I'd appreciate it if you would leave me alone from now on."


	11. Chapter 11

Later that afternoon, Michelle found herself again subject to the dubious hospitality of the GCPD. She sighed, swirling the now cold coffee around in her mug. She really hoped it wouldn't be **another** five hours before she got out of here tonight. Her previous experience with Gordon had not endeared him to her.

The door to the interrogation room creaked open and Michelle was pleased to see Commissioner Gordon himself step in, along with a plain-clothes cop she didn't recognize.

They settled themselves across from her and the good Commissioner spoke. "Miss Mereaux, thank you for coming down here today, I just wanted to do a little follow up after your last statement. We have a couple of questions for you."

Michelle just nodded, a little nervous about how this interview might go, seeing as how now she **had** been in contact with the Joker and she would have to cover that up.

"This is Detective Arrow. He's going to be performing the interview today. I'll just be here to observe."

She nodded, displeased with the turn of events. She didn't like the way Arrow looked at her, like he knew she was already guilty. Of what, she had no idea.

"Alright," Arrow began pompously, sorting through his files, "on the night of your attack, you said that the suspect known as the Joker was the man to save you from your assailants?"

"Yes . . . him and two other men."

"Yes. And these men . . . you didn't get a look at them? You are unable to give us any kind of description? No distinguishing characteristics? Nothing?"

"No," Michelle said, feeling indignant, "I never really saw at them at all. I had just hit my head hard enough to become concussed and my vision hadn't settled yet."

"But you were able, with no problem, to identify the Joker." The disbelief dripped from his voice.

"Well . . . he's a little recognizable," she replied sardonically.

"Hmmm."

The complete distrust in his tone made her want to prove herself, so she added, "And I spent a great deal more time with him."

Arrow pounced on that. It was stupid of her to give him an opening. "And why was that, exactly?"

She frowned not appreciating the insinuation. "Because . . . I can't presume to understand his motivation." She shrugged. "He stayed with me for a couple of minutes. I don't know why. The other two men had left almost as soon as I realized they were there."

"And you have no idea why he was willing to 'save' you from your alleged attackers?"

"No," her voice hardened at having to continue to cover this, "**I don't**."

"Do you realize how impossible that sounds to us, Miss Mereaux? This is the Joker we're talking about. He doesn't go around **helping** people."

"I don't know what to tell you! The man just showed up and saved me." She paused for a second, trying to collect herself. She couldn't lose control, she might give something away and then she'd be in **real** trouble. "Think about it this way. He got to kill two people by saving me. Maybe that's all it was for him, an opportunity for some mayhem."

Both men sat back, stymied. It was a pretty good argument.

"What about now? Has the Joker made any effort to contact you? Call you? Left you a message or a letter?"

Michelle froze and scrambled for a believable reaction. "No," she said slowly, "I've never seen him again."

Gordon looked at her for a second. She tried to keep her face even. She mustn't give herself away.

The other man continued. "We're supposed to believe that the Joker, the most psychotic criminal mastermind that Gotham has ever seen, took it upon himself to save you, for no reason, never to be heard from again?"

"What other possibility **is** there?" Michelle asked, raising her voice a little, completely exasperated with him and the entire situation.

Arrow leaned forward and shouted at her. "I can think of one! Think about **this** scenario for a second: the Joker himself gave you that concussion and planted you there to be 'rescued' by the police in order to further some goal of his own."

She couldn't help but shout right back. "What goal?! What purpose could that possibly serve? I had never met the man before in my life! I am the victim here and I, **really**, do not appreciate what you are insinuating."

"What about-"

Michelle cut him off, holding up one imperious hand, thoroughly fed up. "Look. This conversation is over. If you want to charge me with something, charge me. But if you expect to keep me in this room for one second longer, I want a lawyer and you won't hear another word from me until they arrive."


	12. Chapter 12

Luckily enough, Gordon had been forced to release her, seeing as he didn't have anything to charge her with. She'd trudged home, completely disillusioned by her experience and dropped into bed, exhausted.

Ironically, Michelle had a very hard time falling asleep. She felt like she was on a precipice. She waffled on the edge of a great decision that would affect the rest of her life.

She tossed and turned well into the night, finally falling into a troubled sleep.

In, what felt like only a couple of minutes later, Michelle snapped awake with a jerk. Heart pounding, she looked around her darkened bedroom, searching for the source of the noise that had woken her. She heard a shoe squeak against the floor in the living-room and what sounded like whispering. At first, she thought it might be Jack, but then discarded the idea. It sounded like there were two men. He'd never bring someone else to her home and he'd never been this noisy.

Stifling a gasp at the sight of a flashlight beam shining from underneath her door, Michelle fumbled for her cell phone. Flipping it open she scrolled down to ME and typed in a quick text:

I THINK SOMEONE'S BREAKING INTO MY APARTMENT!

She thought for a moment about calling the police but after her experience with the Gordon that afternoon, she decided against it. She didn't want to give him any excuse to hassle her.

As quietly as she could, Michelle eased out of bed. Searching for a weapon. She silently cursed herself for leaving her 38 in her purse in the living room. She'd taken to carrying it with her whenever she went out and now that caution was going to leave her vulnerable.

Creeping over to her closet, she eased the door open and looked for the jumbo Maglite flashlight she kept in there in case of emergency. _Ah, hah!_ she thought to herself, almost giddy with happiness at the sight of it. Still tiptoeing, she went back to her night-stand to check her phone, about ready to call IYD no matter what Jack might do to her. Pleased, she saw that there was a message:

BE RIGHT THERE. DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID.

Absurdly reassured by his curt words, all Michelle could think was, _Oh, thank god!_ _He's coming_.

Okay, all she had to do was last long enough for Jack to get there and everything'd be okay. She had to stifle a giggle at how absurd that thought was. Relieved because the Joker was coming to the rescue.

Quiet as a mouse, Michelle eased over to the bedroom door and put her back against the wall. _Let's see what these bastards've got_, she thought as she raised the flashlight in preparation to strike.

It took a couple seconds but eventually her bedroom door eased open and a man came creeping inside. Clearly they still thought she was asleep. Taking advantage of that assumption, Michelle suddenly swung, pleased when she connected with a sickening crack.

The first man, the one she'd hit, let out a guttural scream and fell to his knees. The second could be heard behind him, "For fuck's sake, Frank, what happened?"

"She's awake," 'Frank' choked out, cradling his arm, and Michelle swung again, this time aiming without mercy for his fat head. She connected with a dull _**thunk!**_ and was pleased to note, he collapsed to the floor without another sound, out cold or dead.

"Alright, you bitch," she heard from the dark living room. "I've got a gun on ya, so drop the bat."

Seeing no other recourse, she loosened her grip on the flashlight, letting it fall loudly to the floor. Although she had to force herself not to correct the thug and tell him it was a flashlight, not a bat. She may be picking up sarcasm from a **certain** **someone**.

"Come out here, then . . . slowly . . . and turn on a light."

She did as he said, stepping over his partner in crime, stalling for time at this point. _Jack will be here soon. I just have to last that long._

In the dark she walked over to a table lamp and turned it on. She had to stifle a gasp at the sight of her harasser. He was a cop! She couldn't resist a glance back at Frank for confirmation. Yep, he was as well.

"What kind of dumbass cop commits a crime dressed in his blues?" she couldn't help but ask. Either she was getting inured to this kind of violence life or hanging out with the Joker just made everyone else seem much less scary.

"You fucking twat," was his oh, so brilliant reply. _Jack really had __**so**__ much more style._ "C'mere." He waved her closer.

_Wow. Yes, __**please**__, can I get closer to the man with the gun? _Michelle thought as she eased closer to him. Huh, it seemed like this situation was bringing out the bitch in her.

"C'mere, you little shit," he growled, when she didn't move fast enough for him, grabbing her around the upper arm and dragging her to him.

Pulling a set of handcuffs from his belt, he looked around for something to secure her to. Finally, he settled on the handle of one of her low kitchen cabinets. He looped them through, and despite Michelle's struggles, had her secured in short order.

Pleased with himself, he chuckled and smacked her harshly across the face.

**Man**, was she getting tired of that.

"Stay there," he said patronizingly. "I'm gonna go check on Frank."

Forced to bend her knees uncomfortably so that her arms could reach, Michelle watched him stomp over to his friend. He bent down, smacking him lightly across the face and then checked for a pulse.

"Frank? Frank! Wake up buddy. C'mon it was just one little woman, she couldn't've hit you **that **hard. **Frank**!" The man fell to his knees next to his friend in anguish.

Michelle had the sinking feeling she may have killed him.

The man turned around and speared his with his gaze, the rage and hatred in his face unmistakable. "You. Little. Bitch. You **killed** him."

_Uh, oh. _"Uh . . . he tried to kill me first?" Michelle replied stupidly, not considering the repercussions of her snide response very carefully.

The cop shot to his feet and was over to her in seconds, much faster then she'd have guessed his stout body could move. He backhanded her harshly and then pulled her up by her top as she lolled, trying to regain her senses.

He smacked her again across her other cheek. He was shouting something at her, "Fucking bitch. Joker's whore," was all she really caught. Then he ripped open her pajama top and the altercation gained a much more dangerous dimension. By the look in his eyes, Michelle could tell it had occurred to him that he could rape her.

"The Jo-ker's, uh, **whore**, you say-ah. Then why are you **tou-ching** what isss mine?"

Both their heads snapped around at the new voice. Michelle's face awash with elation and her attacker's with fear. The man's hands dropped her numbly and she sagged against the counter still quite disoriented from his blows.

He fumbled for his gun, but before he could bring it up, Jack was on him.

"Ah, ah, aahhh," he said in a mocking tone, snatching the gun out of his hands and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. Bringing his every-ready knife into the cop's sight line, he growled, "Now it's **my** tur-n."

The man, who had been so brave just minutes ago, abusing a young woman, trembled with fear in the grasp of the Joker.

Jack, for his part, was in full character, his eyes burning with hate for this particular man. Michelle had never seen him like this except on television. It was a sobering sight.

"You wanna know how I got these scarsss?" he asked, almost tenderly.

The man shook his head frantically. Probably hoping it would help to avoid the story. That was not the case.

"Let me tell you. See . . . I was a **law**-abiding citizen once. And **one** nigh-**t**, walking down the street, I came across a police-man . . . like you . . . convinced I was, uh, up to no good-ah. Deciding to take the **law** into his ow**n** hands, he devises a . . . punish-**ment**. He takes a knife, and puts it in my mouth . . . **like** thisss." He put his knife in the cop's mouth, then.

Michelle cringed knowing what was coming but was unable to tear her eyes away.

"He says, 'Think it's **funny**, do you? How do you like thisss?' and he does thiss to me." He motioned to the scars with the tip of his knife. "Now . . . I always have a **smile** on my face." He finished with a ghastly grin as he slit the cop's throat and released him.

As the body dropped to the floor, Michelle couldn't take her eyes from Jack. He looked . . . glorious in his violence, like an avenging angel . . . well . . . an avenging angel to **her** anyway. To everyone else he was terror and death . . . and somehow . . . she found she couldn't care.

Still breathing heavily, Jack turned to her. "You **okay**, ma belle?"

Michelle nodded frantically, tears suddenly welling in her eyes, and tugged at her handcuffed hands illustratively.

He seemed to catch her drift and leaned down to the body, searching pockets for the keys. Triumphantly holding them up, he deftly released her and as soon as she was free, Michelle launched herself into his arms ignoring his surprise and her ripped top.

For several minutes, she hugged him tightly to her, letting her tears fall silently into the cloth of his coat.

Finally, he relaxed, at least a little, and put his arms around her.

Easing her tight grip, Michelle relaxed against him and whispered, "Thank you."

He hummed under his breath for a minute and she looked up at him. He seemed bemused. She supposed he didn't usually get a lot of hugs and gratitude when he killed people. "Really. **Thank you**."

Finally, he nodded and stepped away from her. "Pack a bag. Clothes, uh, toiletries and anything you can'-**t** **stand** to lose."

"Huh?" Michelle asked, completely confused by the change in topic.

He pointed at the dead body still lying half in and half out of her bedroom. "You've kill-e**d** a cop now-ah. Do you, uh, **really** think they're going to be-lieve it was self-defenssse? Besides . . . the GCPD seemsss to have deci-ded that you're involved with me. It's not **safe** for you here any-**more**. Come. With. Me."

Michelle met his eyes, drowning in the dark orbs. If she went with him she was tying her fate to his. She looked at him, taking him all in, the clothes, the wild hair and the painted face. This man . . . whatever he was . . . made her feel safer then she'd ever felt before in her life. There was no contest.

"Okay."

With Jack's help, Michelle managed to pack up her most valued possessions and enough clothing and toiletries to allow her to live comfortably for a month, in less then an hour.

His hand proprietarily on her arm, they hurried out of her apartment building in the pre-dawn gloom.


	13. Chapter 13

Gordon looked around the scene in disgust. Two cops dead and Michelle Mereaux, or whatever her real name was, missing; no clue left as to where she might be going . . . although he had his suspicions who with.

A strong breeze blew suddenly from behind him. He turned around, not really all that surprised to see Batman there.

"What happened?" the caped crusader asked in that peculiar gravelly voice.

Gordon sighed, pulling off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, frustrated. "It looks like they forced entrance and Miss Mereaux . . . or someone else, killed them both.

"Someone else?"

Gordon walked over to the second dead body and pulled the sheet covering him back from his face. The Glasgow Smile and slit throat were pretty damming.

"The Joker."

"He's the major suspect."

Batman stepped back from his perusal of the body and looked at Gordon. "And Miss Mereax?"

The Commissioner dropped the cloth, making sure he covered the deceased's body before he answered. "She's missing."

"Missing . . . or fled?"

"Well . . . there's no evidence of it, yet, but . . . I think she's fled. I brought her in for further questioning yesterday and then this." Gordon's expression hardened. "She seems to have chosen her side."

They both fell silent for a moment.

Then Gordon sighed and spoke. "I'll keep an eye out, but at this point she's no longer a priority."

"She'll surface again."

"And when she does, at least this time, we'll have something to charge her with."


	14. Chapter 14

Jack led her to an old condemned townhouse turned apartment building in an almost completely abandoned part of the Narrows. Michelle wrinkled her nose at the look of the outside. Dilapidated, it barely had paint on it, except for graffiti and the windows were all boarded up or painted over. It looked like no one had set foot in it in a decade. _Although, I suppose that's the point_, she thought as he shouldered open the stubborn front door.

"Honey, I'm hoooommme!" he sang cheerily to no one as he kicked the door shut, causing dust and other debris to fall from the ceiling. Nothing else in the house moved. All was silent.

He dropped the couple bags and the box of her things he'd been carrying onto the dirty floor.

Michelle opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her, pulling the bags she was carrying away from her as well. "Leave 'em. The boys'll bring 'em up-ah."

Solicitously, he took her arm again and led her up the stairs. Apparently, there was going to be a tour.

"We . . . don't use the ground floor mu-ch. It's mostly trash and stor-age."

As they reached the second floor, she saw that it was much cleaner, if still dark and depressing. There were multiple doors as well as a lot of open space, it looked like they'd knocked down some of the walls and then never finished the area.

Numerous couches were spread around as well as a couple of coffee tables covered in old pizza boxes and beer cans. There was a big screen TV and what must be a video game set with a lot controllers and cords. Finally, there was a tiny, filthy kitchen in the corner that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. All in all, the whole area was deserted; she wondered where the men who lived there were.

"This is where, uh, the boysss sleep." Jack looked at her consideringly for a second and then said, "**Don'-t** come down here unlesss **I'm** with you."

Michelle, nodded, struck silent by the idea of living so close to the criminal element. _Well_, she finally shrugged,_ I've done it before and it worked out better then trying to be normal had._ She's almost been raped three times in three weeks. That would have **never** happened in her father's house.

Jack led her up another set of stairs to the third floor. "This is the wor-k area," he said, waving one arm around expansively.

And what a work area it was. It looked like the entire floor's walls had been knocked down, only pillars standing to support the ceiling. The entire open space was covered in tables, some of which held computers, others, guns of all kinds and the majority seemed to hold all the different ingredients to make bombs. That's what the men were working on now, or had been working on when they'd appeared.

"Boys, Mi-chelle. Michelle, boysss." He introduced them curtly and then stepped away from her to go inspect whatever it was they were working on.

"So," she heard him say, all business, "how's it co-**ming**?"

As Jack wandered away from her, Michelle looked down at the table beside her. Idly, she picked up a piece of thick metal pipe from a pile there and looked at it.

Putting it back, Michelle glanced up wondering what was taking so long. Surprisingly, her view as blocked by one of the other men.

She looked at him for a moment, just amazed by how very unattractive she found him. He was a big man, relatively tall and muscular, with lots of prison tattoos, a shaven head and very pale blue eyes. He smiled at her, obviously enjoying her disgust, showing gold-capped teeth.

He crept closer to her, now fully in her personal space and seethed quietly at her, "So . . . the Joker brought us a chickie to play with?"

"Uh . . ." Michelle said flatly. "No. He didn't."

The man laughed, blowing foul breath into her face. "That's what they all say, chickie."

Michelle backed up, running into the table and hearing the pipes on it shift. "This time it's true," she said while getting up on her tiptoes and trying to see around him, looking for Jack.

The man swiped for her and she dodged back, making him just miss her. Frantically now, she wondered, _**What**__ is Jack __**doing**__? How could he not __**notice**__ this?_

"C'mere, you little bitch!" the man growled, frustrated with her eluding him and grabbed for her again. He crowed victoriously when he finally got her around her upper arm.

_Okay, I'm __**really**__ getting tired of being called a bitch!_ Michelle thought angered by the almost continuous manhandling she'd been subjected to of late. No longer willing to wait for Jack to diffuse the situation, she grabbed the largest piece of pipe she spotted on the table and cracked her assailant over the head with it as hard as she could.

As he fell, he revealed Jack, standing hunch-shouldered behind him, watching the tableau, a knife already out and ready in his hand.

Reassured by his presence, Michelle dropped the pipe and stepped back, willing to let him handle it.

They all waited as the man collected himself and rose, rounding on her. He clearly intended to renew his attack on Michelle.

Jack struck, fast as a snake, and had him by the back of the head with a knife at his mouth before he'd even realized what had happened.

"Aaah, ta, ta, ta, taaaa," the Joker hissed warningly as the man struggled, his eyes wide with terror. Jack tilted his head to one side and asked in a deceptively jovial voice, "What'vvve I said about. Touching. My. **Things**?"

The man gibbered, finally realizing his jeopardy.

"Hmmmm?" Jack questioned while smacking him lightly in the face a couple of times.

"I-I didn't think . . ."

"You didn't **think**? I, uh, brought her in with me. She had her hands on me. It seeme-**d** to be enough for the **rest** of the boysss . . ."

Everyone held their breath as Jack trailed off. The man, who had been so big and tough just minutes ago was now sniffling and crying pathetically.

"Why so serious?" Jack asked, tauntingly. Everyone gasped as he viciously slit the man's throat. His body dropped limply to the floor and the Joker looked up at his men. "So . . . any **questions**?"

They all shook their heads frantically 'no'.

Without looking, Jack held out his hand for Michelle.

Hesitantly, she stepped over to him and took it.

As he led her toward the staircase, he said over his shoulder to the boys. "Some-body bring up her bagsss . . . and clean up tha-t mess."

Shaken, Michelle went unresisting with Jack. She wasn't really sure what she felt. She was grateful he'd saved her, but shaken that he'd killed **another** person in front of her within the span of a couple hours.

He glanced back at her as he unlocked the door to the fourth floor, his face unreadable.

_Does he think I'm going turn away from him for this?_ She wondered.

Solicitously, he led her into the room and Michelle gasped in surprise. It wasn't a palace by any means but it was definitely more livable then she'd expected.

The hardwood floors had been covered by several large mismatched area rugs and the walls were finished and painted a solid, soothing medium grey. The room had been divided into living areas.

A large bed sat cattycorner against one wall, covered in a fluffy mound of white covers. There was a living room area with a large and comfy looking black leather couch and a TV, a fully operational and **clean** kitchen as well as a door standing open, through which she could see a full bath, also startlingly clean.

Finally, she turned to see what was obviously a work area. A drafting board was covered in papers and books and a desk sat next to it with multiple monitors on top of it as well as a computer. The bank of monitors was something she recognized from her father's house. They were hooked to a surveillance system. From this spot Jack could see what was happening everywhere in the house and the surrounding grounds.

She turned to look at him, surprised. After seeing the rest of the house she hadn't been expecting anything remotely livable.

He cocked his head and asked, "You like? I've, uh, been work-ing on it in . . . ex-pec-tation of you moving in."


	15. Chapter 15

Michelle's eyelids fluttered and she became aware that she wasn't in her bed at home. She blinked and looked around. _That's right_, she thought, looking up from her sprawl on the couch, _I'm living with Jack now._

She remembered stretching out here while Jack manicly flipped through channels, absurdly soothed by his presence. She must've fallen asleep.

Sitting up, she stretched and spotted Jack bent over his drafting board scribbling on something furiously. She couldn't help the fond smile that crossed her face at the sight of him there. Now that she'd given in and sided with him, she felt a peace and a surety that'd been missing in her life since he'd first stumbled upon her that night in the Narrows.

Deciding now was the time to cement their relationship, and finally do something she'd wanted to for some time, Michelle stood. She pulled her shirt off over her head, dropping it on the floor as she toed off her flats. Her hands went to her jeans and she hesitated. _Do I want to be subtle?___she thought to herself. She shook her head. _No_, and shucked her jeans as well.

Unaccountably pleased that she'd worn one of her nicer, matching, bra and panty sets, Michelle strolled over to Jack where he was bent over his work.

"Have a **nice** naaap?" he asked without looking up at her. Obviously, he'd heard her coming. But, just as obviously, he hadn't realized her state of undress.

"Yes. I did," Michelle said seductively as she trailed her hands across his shoulders, testing the muscle there lightly with her nails.

Something about her tone or the way she was touching him, prompted Jack to pause in his work. But he still didn't look at her.

Clearly, she was going to have to be even **less** subtle.

Easily, because he was in one of those roll-y desk chairs, Michelle swung Jack around and settled her scantily clad self in his lap.

Jack looked up at her in surprise before his eyes were dragged downward seemingly against his will.

Michelle was surprised to see his face was free of its habitual grease paint. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd removed it for her. Her heart warmed at the thought.

She threaded her hands into his hair and started leaning downward for a kiss. He halted her.

"You, uh," he said haltingly, "you don't **have** to, ma belle."

She frowned. Did he not know how attractive she found him? Did he think she was doing this because she felt she had to . . . as some kind of . . . repayment?

She shook her head at him and pressed herself closer. Pleased to feel that at least it wasn't a case of him not desiring her. Deliberately meeting his eyes, she said seriously, "I want to, Jack. I've chosen. I picked **you**. That means I'm with you one hundred percent . . . and this is part of it. Besides," she smiled at him saucily, and ground against him. "Don't you want to?"

Jack groaned and finally began to participate by pulling her closer. "Always," he growled giving in and catching her lips with his.

He kissed her hungrily, as if it had been a very long time and he was starving for the contact. It made her wonder for a moment just how long it **had** been for him, before all thought was swept out of her hands by the sensation of his hands on her skin.

Now that he'd committed himself to the act, Jack was wasting no time in freeing her from what little she was wearing. Not lifting his mouth from hers, Jack managed to release the catch on her bra and had it off before she'd even realized what was happening.

Michelle gasped and arched at the sensation of his hands on her breasts for the first time. "Jack!" she all but squealed as he plucked and twisted her throbbing to just this side of pain. It was the hottest thing anyone had ever done to her and she thought it boded well for the rest of their evening.

Desire rose as Jack continued to play with her breasts and began to kiss his way down the side of her neck. Michelle all but dove for the buttons of his shirt and had it open and stripped off him in record time, overjoyed at the expanse of bare skin she now had at her disposal.

It took several moments, but Jack seemed to suddenly realize that she'd removed her shirt and he froze, trapping both her wrists in his hands and holding them away from him, much to Michelle's frustration.

"What?" she gasped, irritated. He was so close and she. just. Couldn't. Reach!

Transferring both her slim wrists to one hand, Jack took his other hand and grabbed her chin, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes burning with emotion.

Michelle finally realized he was . . . ashamed?

"I'm not," he began to say haltingly, "I'm not . . . pretty," he finally ended and pursed his lips as if he was frustrated that he couldn't find the right word for what he was trying to say.

Michelle frowned at him, confused. Then she realized, he must have more scars . . . She smiled, surprising him, and leaned toward him again, despite his awkward hold on her. "Jack," she whispered sweetly, "I didn't even notice."

He frowned at her, not sure if she was lying. In his mind, how could anyone **not** notice?

Michelle smiled at him, realizing in that moment that she was falling in love with this man, the man behind the makeup. She stood up, pleased with the way his restraining hands just dropped away. She pulled him with her, leading them toward the bed.

She pushed him down on it and he let her. She knelt down to remove his shoes and socks. That quickly finished, she pushed him back so he was lying down and she went to work on his pants. He made a motion as if to stop her, but she shook her head and looked at him determinedly.

Silently, he acquiesced, pulling his hands away.

As she freed him from his pants, Michelle couldn't help but notice that nature had been generous with him. He was big, but not scarily so, and it was all she could do not to lick her lips in anticipation of feeling him within her. As she stood and dropped his pants, she took the opportunity to remove her own panties.

Now, with them both naked, Michelle eased back onto the bed, crouching over Jack in a similar position to how they'd been just minutes ago.

Please to be exactly where she was, Michelle ran her hands down Jack's taut chest. "You are beautiful," she whispered to him, knowing he wouldn't really believe her but willing him to all the same.

Tracing the two very large and quite horrible scars that led from the near middle of his torso, one higher then the other, off to his left side, she met his burning eyes. She leaned down and pressed her lips to the higher one, pleased by his gasp of surprised pleasure. She kissed along that scar and then moved to the other, all the while moving lower and lower on his body.

As she neared the end of his second scar, Jack groaned and pulled her up to him, not able to restrain the gratitude and desire he felt for her.

Michelle found herself in a maelstrom of a kiss, Jack's hands all over her and yet not on her enough. He rolled them over, so that he was on top and Michelle was barely cognizant of the repositioning.

She gasped as Jack kneed her legs apart and one searching hand delved into her wet center. Michelle couldn't restrain her moan as he began to pump into her. He tested her, spreading his fingers, making sure she was wet enough and relaxed enough to take him.

Satisfied, he withdrew, leaving Michelle whimpering and he leaned into her, kissing her oh-so sweetly several times as he whispered. "Shhh, shhh. Almos-t," he paused as he positioned himself against her core and pushed home with a sigh of great satisfaction, "theeerre."

Michelle arched and clenched around him at the sensation. It'd never felt so right. Suddenly, she needed to see his face. She tipped her own head up and grabbed at Jack's cheeks. His burning eyes met hers.

"What?" he asked softly, beginning to thrust within her.

Michelle had to resist letting her eyes roll back in her head at the sensation spearing through her. She panted and pressed her lips to his, pulling at his mouth hungrily. The kiss deepened and seemed to spur him on, his thrusts becoming stronger and deeper. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as she felt her orgasm begin to blossom.

Jack felt her clench around him rhythmically and shuddered at both the sensation and her gasp of, "Jack!" as she crested.

All to soon, he felt his own climax spearing through him and pressed frantic kisses along her jaw, finally burying his face in the hair at her neck and letting himself go, finding . . .

Paradise.


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning, Michelle woke up alone in Jack's big bed. She rolled over, looking around the room for him. _Nope. Not there either._ She sighed and got up, padding naked over to her pile of bags sitting on the floor where they'd been left.

She dug through them, grinning triumphantly as she found her long lavender silk robe. Shrugging into it, she belted it and headed into the kitchen in search of breakfast.

Two pop-tarts and a glass of apple juice later, she knew she really needed to get some groceries, _All he has is junk-food and sugar,_ she thought,_ which actually explains quite a lot_. Full, she decided a shower was in order and headed into the bathroom with her bag of toiletries.

After her morning ablutions, Michelle dressed herself in a pair of jeans, flats and a blouse, braiding her wet hair back from her face. Good to go for the day, she looked around the apartment. She didn't really want to hide up here all day, but at the same time she wasn't sure about going downstairs alone. Not after what had happened last night.

Stymied, she decided to check out what was on TV first, and if she got **really** bored, she'd head down. Michelle settled herself on the the black couch and dug out the remote.

As soon as she flipped on the set, she was inundated with images of herself; recent photographs, pictures and video of her walking to and from work and her apartment.

_. . . mystery woman known only by the alias Michelle Mereaux is the major suspect in the killing of two policemen just last night. Believed to be in league with the escaped criminal mastermind, the Joker, she is assumed to be armed and dangerous. If you see this woman, do not approach but contact police . . ._

Michelle laughed, because it was that or cry. Gordon hadn't even given her the benefit of the doubt; he'd just assumed she was guilty. Attacked in her own home by two amoral cops and, because she'd dared defend herself, charged with a double-homicide. Lovely.

Well, if she'd had any doubts about sticking with Jack they were relieved, because, now, it was the Joker or jail.

Angry, Michelle clicked off the TV and headed downstairs, not really sure where she was planning on going.

On her way down, maybe it was her anger or the fact that she was rushing, but whatever the case, on the second to last stair she stepped wrong, tripped and fell, managing to crack her head against the banister on the way down.

'The boys' looked up from where they were working, still on bombs, she noted vaguely. One particularly brave soul stood up and came over to her.

"Uh, doll? You okay?" he asked.

_Huh_, Michelle thought, as she nodded at him, struggling to sit up, _I wonder if he picked that up from his boss_.

"You don't look so good," he said, as she realized there was something we dripping from her forehead.

She brought up a hand and swiped it out of her eyes, surprised to see how red it was. She was bleeding.

The man knelt down next to her, pulling a relatively clean handkerchief out of his pocket and preparing to put it over her gash.

They were both startled, when, out of nowhere, the man was plucked up from his crouch above her with an awfully familiar knife held to his throat.

"Jack!" Michelle cried in alarm, realizing what they must've looked like. Her, on the floor, bloody, with him crouched over her.

The Joker had him in a strangle-hold, the knife now pressed against his face. He was silent, which was very different from the other times Michelle'd seen him kill people, which admittedly, was not all that many times. It froze her.

He stared at the man, his eyes like blazing, black pits, his white face, red lips and black eyes now fully terrifying even to those who were used to them.

Forced by her conscience to intervene for her helper's sake, Michelle struggled to her feet and moved to tug ineffectually at his arm, saying tearfully, "Jack, **please**. He was trying to help." She began to whisper then, "Please. He was just trying to help . . ."

The Joker pulled back, hesitating, and looked at her.

"He was just trying to help." Michelle begged for his life.

The men watched, shocked by what was happening. The Joker **never **hesitated. Never. Absolutely flabbergasted, they watched as he lowered the knife and let the man go . . . because of the pretty pleading of one little woman.

He fixed his coat and hair, clearly taking the time to gather himself and then said, "Maybe I haven't been clear-ah. She. Is. Mine. Do not touch her. I will kill you **all** for her."

The remaining men looked at each other. Maybe they'd misconstrued. They'd assumed she was just a piece of ass even if the Joker'd never brought a woman home before. Clearly this was much more. They'd have to be very careful with her from now on.


	17. Chapter 17

Slowly, Michelle followed Jack up the stairs. He seemed . . . upset . . . and she didn't think it was because of what had just happened. She wondered what it could be.

Once she stepped inside, he closed and locked the door behind her in what **should** have been a solicitous act. Somehow, however, she found it quite intimidating and couldn't help but back away as he stalked toward her.

"So . . . " He began to talk in that creepy voice he used when he was fully in The Joker mindset and she began to get worried. He'd never used it with her. "I heard tell . . . of a little tale . . . of a lit-**tle** mob princess. She was, uh, quite the Daddy's girl."

_Oh, fuck_, was all Michelle could think as he continued, still backing her toward the bed.

"She did as she was told-ah, every night 'till she grew old-**ah** and then her Daddy went to jail, locked up without an-**y** bail and then she dis-a-ppeared . . . leaving Meroni in charge of the fam-i-ly and was never hear-**d** from agaaaiin."

He leaned over her threateningly until she fell back against the bed of her own accord. He put his face not an inch away from hers and growled, "Sound **familiar** to you?"

Michelle gulped, he must've seen the news as well. But somehow he'd connected her alias with the missing mob princess rumors that were no doubt running like wildfire though the underworld.

"No?" he said tauntingly when she didn't reply. "'Cause it Does. To. **Me**."

His tone frightened her and she couldn't help but try to scoot away from him. "I was going to tell you . . ."

"**Were** you?"

Clearly, he didn't believe **that**.

"Jack, really," she began, having a hard time articulating, "it's not that I wasn't telling you . . . not on purpose anyway." She could feel her eyes fill with tears as she realized just how untruthful she had been with him. "I was trying to live normally and . . . I just . . . never got around to it." She **had** meant to tell him.

"Never got around to it . . . hmmmm. What's your **real** name then, princess?"

She gulped and looked down, whispering. "Michelle Falcone."

"And your father's name?"

He was prompting her but she could tell he already knew what she was going to say. "Carmine Falcone."

"That's right." He patted her playfully on the cheek. "That wasn't so har-**d**, now, was it?"

Michelle, shook her head and a couple of stray tears finally escaped her eyes. No longer as frightened, but now sad that she'd so obviously broken his trust, she said, "Jack, please. I wasn't doing it deliberately . . ."

The knife finally fell away from her face, but the betrayed look that stayed in his eyes bothered her a great deal more. "Yet, somehow, you man-aged to do it all the **same**."

"You're right. I should have told you. I'm **so** sorry."

Jack pulled back from her, confused.

_I guess he wasn't expecting an apology_.

"What did you say?" he said in his serious voice. Michelle couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

"I'm sorry, Jack." She looked up at him with sad eyes, completely contrite. "I should have told you."

Her true regret siphoned off most of his anger. He reached for it, bringing his knife back up to her face . . . and found he lacked the will to harm her. He growled and grabbed her by the back of the head, pulling a gasp from her, the thought of her affecting him like that bringing back some of his rage. He steadied his hand and pressed the knife tip to her plump lip, but all he could see in his mind was how the scars he would put there would ruin that sweet curve and put sadness in her eyes.

He shoved her away in disgust and watched as she rolled and fell off the bed. It was all he could do not to rush to help her up.

_Oh, my god_, he thought, _this is disgusting. I can't harm her? I can't stand for her to be sad? What is this . . . weakness?_

He stared at her in horror.

_Love._

_That's what this is._

She'd trapped him. Pulled him in with safety and comfort and never flinching away from him and now . . . he couldn't stand to see her hurt, he couldn't stand . . . to be away from her.

_What will I do?_

It was too late to get rid of her, the rot was too deep to cut out. The act would kill him.

_I'll just have to keep her_, he thought. _Keep her here. Keep her safe and keep her happy._   It wouldn't be too hard. He'd done okay so far.

He just couldn't let his enemies know. The Joker, so inviolate before, now had a weakness . . . one **so** easily exploited.

_Yes_, he thought looking at her, _I just won't let anyone know._

"Jack?" Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts, "Are you okay?" and he turned to see her there at his elbow.

"Yeah," he said, pulling her into a hard embrace, tucking his face into the crook of her neck, where it belonged.

"Better than ever."

**OKAY, THE END.**

**I REALIZE THIS IS CUT A BIT SHORT. THERE IS STILL A LOT THAT COULD BE COVERED BUT I FELT THIS WAS A GOOD PLACE TO STOP BECAUSE I WANTED TO SHOW THE STORY OF THEIR ROMANCE, FROM THEM MEETING TO THEM REALIZING THAT THEY LOVE ONE ANOTHER.**

**I DO NOT HAVE PLANS FOR A SEQUAL BUT IT IS NOT OUT THE QUESTION EITHER. I'VE GOTTEN MORE REACTION TO THIS STORY THAN ANY I'VE EVER WRITTEN BEFORE, SO I PLAN TO AT LEAST TRY.**

**ON THE SUBJECT OF REACTION, I WANTED TO THANK ALL MY REVIEWERS, ESPECIALLY THE ONES WHO'VE BEEN WITH ME FROM THE BEGINNING AND ESPECIALLY, ESPECIALLY GYPSYWITCHBABY AND JENNYT82. YOU GUYS'VE BEEN GREAT. LOTS OF NICE LONG REVIEWS. YOU'VE REALLY KEPT ME MOTIVATED ABOUT THIS STORY.**

**THANK YOU. HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT.**


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